


Revealing Kalinda

by ksimplythebest



Category: The Good Wife (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 18:43:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2161047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ksimplythebest/pseuds/ksimplythebest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kalinda's met someone who sees right through her; someone who reads her like a book.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dread

**Author's Note:**

> The creators own these characters, not I. I just borrowed them. Kalinda felt so under-served. I hate thoughts and lines unfinished, so I connected some dots.

 

 

Kalinda, from the conference room, has one eye on the meeting in Diane’s office.  She watches the client rise, kiss Diane’s hand, and move toward the exits.  She assesses him through the glass.

“You know him?” Will asks Diane.

“I knew him,” she answers.  “It was a long time ago, in D.C.  We were in our thirties.  I haven’t seen him in all that time.”

“So you can give us a leg up in the competition for the contract?”  Will is always strategizing for the win.

“Not likely, unless he’s changed a lot.  I remember him being a by the book type,” says Diane.  “I haven’t followed his career over the years, so I don’t know if he’s loosened his principles with age and battle … and money.  What do you think of the survey requirement?”

“I picked up on that too,” says Will.  “He means personality test.  There’s a new undercurrent in the Department of Defense contractor space.  A lot of firms are opting to do it, calling it Snowden insurance.  It’s about the loyalty measure.  They have to eat the cost of the testing.  It’s not an authorized project expense.”

Diane passes her legal pad to Will, on which she’s written some names.  Kalinda’s name is at the bottom.  “I’m not sure we need Kalinda on this kind of team.  I wouldn’t think she’d take well to a personality test.”

“It’s good to have her authorized if we need her for something.  I’ll talk to her,” says Will.

“If loyalty is the focus, it’s her strength,” says Diane.  “If it gets much broader, she could buck.”

“Ya.”

Will emerges from Diane’s office.  He can feel Kalinda’s gaze.  With a motion from him, Kalinda makes her way to his office.

“K, you got a second?”

“Ya.  Sure.”                                                        

They take their usual seats at Will’s desk.

“What are you working on?” asks Will.

“Something for Diane,” responds Kalinda.  “I can do more.  What do you need?”

“You know about our proposal for the Fisher & Li business, right?” asks Will.

“Some.  Not much.”

“Fisher & Li is an electrical engineering company.  They won the circuits development contract with the Department of Defense for the next generation military drones.  High security.”

“So that guy is Fisher & Li?”

“Not directly,” says Will.  “He’s their legal contractor.  But his firm doesn’t want to resource the DOD contract.  He’s hiring outside legal for the project so his firm can step away from it.  We’re in the final three.”

“That’s good.”

“This guy knows Diane,” says Will.

“I noticed that,” says Kalinda.

“I want to use his history with Diane to give us the advantage.  See what you can find out about him.  Here’s his name.”  Will slides the man’s business card across his desk until Kalinda can read the print. 

She captures a picture with her smart phone, and then flips the card over.  Blank.  She slides it back over the desk to Will.  “No problem.  It’s strange his firm wants to pass on the work.  What aren’t you telling me?”

“He’s got some unsavory clients.  His firm doesn’t want to be subjected to the extra vetting,” says Will.

“We have some unsavory clients too,” says Kalinda.

“We’re a bigger firm.  We can compartmentalize better to mask our warts.  Here’s Diane’s list of associates.”

Kalinda scans the list, finding her own name at the bottom.

“Vet them all again.  Let me know if any of them have any skeletons in their closets.  We’ll substitute others if we need to.”

“Anything in particular I should be vetting for?” asks Kalinda.

“Be more thorough than usual,” says Will.  “The next phase is DOD background checks, then personality surveys.”

Background check.  Personality survey.  Personality survey!  The words bounce off the walls and echo in Kalinda’s head.

DOD!  She feels her constitution starting to reflex into fight or flight changes.  Since the trauma of Nick’s surfacing in Chicago last year, her instincts are raw.  At the slightest risk to her secrets, she goes on alert.  Her adrenal glands are exerting more influence than her brain for the time being.

Will is continuing to talk, she’s sure of it.  She can vaguely hear the sound of his voice, not clearly or at normal volume, but she can hear him.  His words, however, are barely intelligible.

“Next week” garble garble, … fading to a numb hum.

Her heart is racing.

Will is intently focused inward, strategizing.  He’s not noticing her panic. 

She tries again, more intently, to focus on Will’s words but it’s difficult.  Her ears are filled with the pulses of rushing blood.  The edges of her field of vision are becoming fuzzy, like she’s going to faint, but not.  The walls are closing in.  Refuse?  Run?  I have to go.

“Ok, I got it.  I have to go.  The time.”  I can’t feel my hands.

* * *

 

Kalinda takes her leave of Will, and walks down the hallway toward the elevators, her head in a fog.  She doesn’t remember calling for the elevator to open, but there it is, in front of her, and she enters.  The door closes to surround her.  With an involuntary deep inhale, she realizes she has not been breathing.  The sense of panic is familiar to her.  There is always a risk that a background check can expose her Leela identity.  DOD. Background check.  Personality survey.  Will’s words are still ringing in her head.

The elevator opens, delivering her to the garage, the level where her car is parked.  The realization hits her.  “Calm yourself!” she says aloud.  Nick is not ever coming for you again.

She reaches her car, unlocks the driver side door and gets in.  It all rushes back on her; Alicia telling her that Nick was selling drugs again; that she had confronted him, and withdrawn her legal services.  But it was the next statement from Alicia that chilled Kalinda’s blood.  He threatened her.  Kalinda remembers the timbre of her voice very clearly.  “And I’m not in danger?”

“You won’t be.” With those three words, Kalinda remembers feeling Leela reincarnate.  Leela was the only one who could successfully manage Nick when he went over the line.

She remembers going to the F&E yard to confirm, finding drugs, and leaving a message for Nick, at the low, low cost of more of Bill’s bones.

She remembers the trepidation of driving over the border into Canada, something she had avoided for 15 years; the irrational fear she wouldn’t be let back into The States.  The bus station was just over the border.  She put money into a locker.  She remembers slipping the key into her pocket.  From a public phone in the bus station, she called the Chicago PD and reported drug trafficking activity at the F&E yard.  As always, it took longer to pass through the Canada-to-US checkpoint than it ever took to go in the opposite direction.  On that day, she remembers the queue as excruciating.

By the time she got back to the firm, the last attorney was closing his office for the night.  She prepared a map for Nick.   She composed a text message to Lamond Bishop on her phone.  It needed to be unmistakably understood by Mr. Bishop, and at the same time stealth, to protect her and the recipient from implication later; ‘Nick Severese, F&E, doing business in your territory.’  No.  She changed the word territory to the word neighborhood.  She left it unsent for now.  Then she waited for Nick to arrive.

She remembers how unreasonable he was.  He refused the map and key.  He refused to believe she’d sent the cops to the F&E yard.  He refused to go back to Canada.  Couldn’t he understand she was trying not to have to hurt him?  She was so tired of his world of thugs.  He wanted her to be her old self again.  But she had grown past that.  Her new world had changed her; for the better, she felt.  She didn’t want to give it up.  Surely he could see the changes in her.  She had exhausted every way to persuade him.  He dared her to launch Plan B.  He knew she’d have one.  She agonized over hitting the button.  Send text.  She knew the recipient would act in his own best business interests.  She exited the offices of Lockhart Gardner, alone.  Kalinda never knew any more detail of what transpired that night.

She’s willed her attentions back into the present.  She starts her engine.  She is feeling relieved.  The background check won’t bring Nick’s interference back into her life.  How can it?  She is expected at the party and she is late.

* * *

 

She reaches her destination, parks, and gets out of the car.  Glenn Childs!  The thought of him jumps to the top of her mind.  “How can I be so stupid!” she says.  How much does he know about arson, identity theft, false citizenship, impersonating an officer, testifying under oath under an assumed name?  Even if Nick is no longer a worry, there is still plenty to lose from a background check.

It is with these worries fresh in her head, she enters the bar where the celebration is already underway.  The place is abuzz with people and drink and music.  Everyone is celebrating.  Kalinda puts all her effort into assuming party mood, and steps into the crowd.  It is a crowd where she knows everyone and everyone knows her.

It doesn’t take long for a friend to find her, an attorney from a competing firm.  He thoroughly enjoys their ‘dance’.  Each time he sees her, he tries to recruit her away from Lockhart Gardner.  His is a much better firm, he assures her, each time he makes the pitch.  Tonight is no different.

“So, when are you going to come work for me?”

“How about tomorrow?”

He is already three sheets to the wind, but he is lucid enough to realize that isn’t her usual answer to his offer.

“You’re not serious.  Are you thinking of leaving Lockhart Gardner?  No.”  He leans in to look at her a little more closely.  Indeed, Kalinda can smell that he has been at the party for a while.  “I know you’re joined at the hip to Will Gardner.”   He laughs at the thought of it all, and moves back into the center of the party.

Kalinda does her social duty.  She mingles, she drinks, she flirts with the men and the women, she listens intently; the usual things that insure this group is her source of contacts when she needs them.  Well, they are her friends too.  She isn’t made of stone.  Sometimes she likes the companionship of a select few.

She’s done her duty.  She needs to be alone now.  Her mind is on overdrive and she is exhausted.  She says her goodbyes to the party goers and heads to the car for the drive home.

* * *

 

Kalinda isn’t getting any sleep.  She tosses and turns in her bed, worrying about passing a background check by the _US Department of Defense_.

If Peter Florrick was as good as he claimed he was, if he was truly worth the high price she’d paid, her identity as Kalinda Sharma should be tied up tighter than a drum.  She thought back on the path that got her to this place, this jam.

For a year, Leela had planned to flee Nick and Toronto.  From Toronto, she monitored the Buffalo death records looking for a woman her age, preferably East Indian.  When she found someone close enough, she forged the documents to assume her name, social security number and birth certificate.  Among her new documents was a diploma from St. Mary’s Catholic School, Buffalo.  When the day came, everything was ready for Leela Tahiri’s death.  She lit a flame, and it was done.  She was over the border.  Niagara Falls, USA.  She was Kalinda Sharma, 26, and unmarried. There were no criminal records on Kalinda Sharma.  A background check wasn’t a problem.  She got a job as a clerk for the Buffalo PD and began paying federal and state payroll taxes in the name of Kalinda Sharma.  She even paid off several of her overdue bills to seal the deal.  She was laying groundwork.

After two years in Buffalo, the rehabilitation of Kalinda Sharma’s credit rating, and a U.S. passport, it was an easy move to the Cleveland PD.

In Cleveland, she was different, ambitious.  Cleveland PD was huge and she was bored as a clerk.  She could do more, much more.  She wanted to learn and there were plenty of cops who were happy to teach, some altruistic, some for a price.  All she needed was a resume for the next move.  For two years, she quietly forged the resume and documents of a police detective. 

She held her breath through the entire application process.  She could hardly believe she got away with it.  She was a police detective with the Chicago PD.  Proving she was an experienced detective took everything she had that first year.   She made a lot of friends and contacts; some male, some female; some platonic, some not; all useful.  They were vital to her keeping up the ruse.  There wasn’t anybody she didn’t know.  There wasn’t anybody who didn’t know her.  She was proud to be counted among the most effective investigators.  She felt it had been a glorious five years.  By this point, Kalinda’s problem was hubris more than it was background check.

At first, she thought the ASA was kidding.  “Peter Florrick is looking for an investigator.  He’s looking at you.  He wants only proven winners in the State’s Attorney’s office.  Peter is going places.  He’s going to be big one day.  Get on the train.”

She bit.  That’s when her bravado got checked.  Nine years safely out of Toronto, out of Nick’s sphere, now at risk.  Peter wanted a meeting; a pre-interview interview.   She remembers meeting him for the first time.  There was something alluring about his presence alone.  It seemed too big to be contained in the small room where they met.  She was not immune to his draw.  She wondered.  Is this that undefinable thing you must possess to make it in high level politics; to enchant masses of people to work for you, to chant for you, to vote for you?  Kalinda had been all about hiding.  They couldn’t have been more different.  It was reflex to him… his appreciation of a beautiful woman in his presence.  She thought it would keep her safe.  She was wrong, just the opposite.  He was the governing class, not at its finest.  She was the prey.  “You look wonderful,” he said to her, “setting aside your date of death, Kalinda, well, both your dates of death, Leela.”  She was frozen in place.  “How can I help you with this?  I can expunge Kalinda’s date of death?  Would that be good?  It could permanently disconnect the clue that led us to Leela.  Or should I let your husband know you’re alive and safe and here?  Is he a little dangerous?” She couldn’t move.  He noticed.  “Now, I have many friends who speak very highly of you.  They say you are grateful when they do big favors for you.  Do you know what they say?”  

“You want me to buy you a drink?” she said, knowing this wasn’t where he was going.

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly drink in public with a woman who is not my wife.” 

She was trapped.  She took one deep breath.  “One night.  No repercussions.” 

That’s what he was waiting for.  “Are you offering?” 

Why is she hesitating?  She’s conducted business like this before.  Well, not like this.  It had always been on her terms before.  This is different.  “Yes.”  And tomorrow you wake up.   The rest, as they say, is history. 

Politics, from inside the State’s Attorney’s office, was a cut throat business. Kalinda became collateral damage in the Peter vs Glenn carnage.

When Kalinda needed a job, Will was there.  He did a background check before he hired her at Stern, Lockhart & Gardner.  She knows it was clean because she never heard otherwise.  Peter had delivered what she’d paid him for.

* * *

 

Kalinda reaches for the phone to check the time.  01:03a.m.  It is almost like her fingers are moving without direction from her mind.  Contacts.  Peter Florrick.  Hit the call icon.  It rings twice.

He picks up on the other end.  “Kalinda?  Is Alicia all right?”

“Yes.  As far as I know.   Peter, can I make it through a serious background check?”

He hesitates a moment.  His head is foggy from sleep.  “I’m sure.  The record trail is solid.”  He pauses to let his head clear.  “There’s nothing I can do, though, about what Glenn Childs may think he knows.  Except that he’d be able to produce absolutely no evidence to back up a story.  He’s moved on to a new life.  I can’t imagine he’d find any profit in ruining something for you.”

“I paid your price for this to be air tight.”

“Kalinda,” he says, his voice heavy with guilt and regret.  Most of the little people he’d used, chewed up and spit out, on his way up the ladder, were anonymous to him.  He preferred it that way.

“Then I paid Alicia’s price,” says Kalinda.

“I’m sorry.  I tried to tell her you were blameless, but she couldn’t hear through her rage.  I’d never seen her like that before.”  He pauses a moment before he offers more.  “There’s a piece of her missing now.  You loved each other like sisters."

More.  That familiar sharp pain in her chest returns.  She thought it would subside over time, but…

“Half of that has drowned.  The other half is gasping for air.”  She is a little surprised she’s verbalized that.  She normally keeps it very close to the vest.  It must be the hour and her exhaustion. 

“Why am I able to get through to you on the old number?” asks Kalinda.  “You’re the governor now.”

“I keep my old phone for family.”

“Good night, Peter.”

“Good night, Kalinda.”

Kalinda’s mind is still moving too fast for sleep.  No time like the present to run background checks on the LG team for the Fisher Li project.  She’ll do the check on herself first.  The suspense is killing her.

Three failures.  Will and two others.  Kalinda chooses three replacements, runs their checks, and completes a list of eight who can pass background checks.

The profile and background check on Diane’s old colleague didn’t take much time.  Straight as an arrow.  The unsavory clients of which Will spoke, are pretty small ball.

The email to Will is time stamped 04:34a.m.

Can she still get two hours of sleep?  At least try.

* * *

 

Two days later. 

Diane and Will are talking and walking when they spot Kalinda.  They momentarily suspend their conversation.  Diane addresses Kalinda.  “Good job, Kalinda.” 

Compliments are fuel to Kalinda.

Will puts his hand on her back, leans down until his head is level with hers, and quietly speaks.  “I just sent you an email.  Everyone passed background checks.  Only two firms left in the running.”

Will and Diane disappear around the corner.

Kalinda opens the email.  Will has forwarded the client’s original message, with a preface from him.  “Here are our next step instructions for Fisher & Li.  Appreciate everyone’s quick response to the link.”

Following Will’s comment is the client’s message of congratulations, and a link to a website for the pre-meeting survey.

Kalinda takes a deep breath.  Then she clicks on the link.

* * *

 

It is nearing the end of business hours when Kalinda’s phone rings.  The screen flashes Will’s picture and name.

“Hey Will.”

“K, I want to talk to you.  After court.”

“Ok,” says Kalinda.  “Where?”

“That place next to the thing.”

“Ok,” says Kalinda.

That quickly, he’s disconnected.

The exchange leaves Kalinda smiling.  She has always taken comfort in their shorthand.

* * *

Will finds Kalinda at the bar, an empty seat for him next to her.  He places his hand on her back as he takes his seat.  He motions to the bartender for a drink.  What she’s having.

“What do you need?” asks Kalinda.

“The ones who didn’t pass your vetting.  Why?”

“First guy was beating his ex-wife.  Charges of domestic assault were expunged.  Quicky divorce.  Her dad was a celebrity politician in the middle of an election at the time.  Second guy had a complicated credit record.  And yours, the suspension was a problem, and the gambling history came up.  Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about.  You did exactly what I asked you to do.  I’m more interested in getting the contract than having you stroke my ego at the expense of new business.  That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t stroke my ego anytime there is the slightest legitimate reason.”

They laugh.  They talk easily about everyone and everything.  As their conversations almost always do, especially when drinks are involved, the subject rolls to Alicia.  As they almost always do, they commiserate a moment for both their losses, and then pretend she doesn’t really mean that much to either of them.  A moment of silence always follows, to reflect on the lie.

 


	2. Lunge and Parry

The scene is a local university.

The psychology professor walks down the hallway toward the office of her peer.  She and he make up the team of evaluators for the university’s latest corporate contract.

She greets his assistant with a smile.  “Is he in?”

The assistant nods.

She knocks, opens the door and pokes her head in.  “Hey.”

“Hey.”

She enters the room and approaches his desk.  “Can you take a look at something?  The Fisher & Li contract; I see the last person tomorrow.”

“Sure.”

She hands him the file folder.

“What am I looking for?”

“I don’t want to influence you,” she says.

“Ok.”  He leans back in his chair and gets comfortable.  He opens the file and starts studying the content.

She takes a seat in his rocker and gazes out the window.  Relaxing quietly, she looks out over a beautiful snowless cold campus, the trees bare, the branch patterns like an artist’s masterpiece.  It was a nice ten minute respite in the middle of a hectic day.

He looks up from the file at her. 

She turns her head to meet his gaze, anxious to hear what he has to say.

“It’s ummmm,” he hesitates, “it’s probably not multiple personalities.”

“No,” she replies.

“But it’s something.”

“Yes.”

“What are you going to do?” he says.

“I don’t know yet.”

He pauses before he offers, because he knows she won’t be entertained.  “Do you want me to take her?”

With a look, and an emphatic “No!”, that idea is put to rest.

“Well,” he says, “I’m going to tell you what I think your approach should be.”

“I expect no less.”

“I think you need a very carefully balanced strategy, based on the potential outcomes.  Remember,” he says, ”she hasn’t asked for your help.  She’s just a resource for a project.  Your role is to say ok or not ok.  That’s it.  Yes?”

“Yes.”

“First possibility is, you interview her, you evaluate her, you identify her problem and you deem her a risk to the security of the project.  You have to reject her.  That fulfills your contractual obligation. Then, outside of the contract, the two of you are free to decide to pursue or not pursue therapy, just like any other therapist/client relationship.

But what if the problem you uncover doesn’t impact her ability to do her job on the project?  You’ll pass her, she’ll sprint out of your office, never to be seen – voluntarily – again, and your relationship with her is restricted to and defined by the terms of your contractual obligation for the duration of the project.  I know you.  That’s not going to be enough for you.  You’re going to want to find a loop hole so you can help her.  You’ve only got one meeting to figure out what’s going on with this,” he waves the file in the air in front of him, “and engage a hook if you need one.”

“I should pre-script the interview like a decision tree,” she says, “so I can control my strategy.”

“That’s what I’d do,” he says.

* * *

 

 

The next day.

Bio break. 

The psychologist feels prepared, over-prepared.  She’s cleared her calendar for the rest of the afternoon.   She’s committing her total attention, without distraction, to whatever will present in this upcoming client hour.  She’s convinced that something is going on.   She knows she’ll get only one quick shot at this.

The psychologist walks down the hallway from the restrooms toward her office.  There are four young male grad students loitering in the hall just outside her office door.  They greet her, “doc”, a nod, “professor”, “Dr. Hunt.”  She returns their greetings, “Gentlemen,” as she walks into her office.  She knows each of them well.

“What’s going on in the hallway?” she asks her assistant.

The assistant, acting uncharacteristically elusive, says “Your two o’clock is here, from Lockhart Gardner.”

The psychologist looks around the small reception area and sees no one.  She looks quizzically at the assistant.

“I asked her to wait in your office.”

“In my office?”

“She was attracting attention out here.”

* * *

 

 

 

The doctor opens the door to her office, file folder in her hand.  A face to go with the file, she thinks to herself, and the fuss in the hallway.

She greets her client with a friendly smile, “Ms. Sharma?”

“Dr. Hunt.”

“Nice to meet you,” says Dr. Hunt.  They shake hands.  “Did you have any trouble finding our offices?” 

“No.   Your directions were good.”

“Good.  It’s easy to get _to_ the campus; sometimes not so easy to find your way _around_ the campus.  I’ve had many a client get lost navigating the parking lots and courtyards and pods.

Please sit.  Make yourself comfortable.  Is it all right if I call you Kalinda?”

“Sure,” Kalinda responds.

“Please, call me Alicia.”

Before she can catch herself, Kalinda has audibly reacted.  She immediately muffles it.  Dr. Hazel A. Hunt.  That’s the name she got from Diane’s assistant.

“What?” says Dr. Alicia.

“Nothing important,” replies Kalinda.

“Really?” says the doctor, obviously wanting more.

Kalinda is laser focused on her eyes.  Can I ignore this?  The doctor’s body language communicates very clearly, no such luck.

“It’s just that I used to have a good friend by that name.”

“Used to have?  What happened?”

“Uh, my fault.  I did something.  That was that.”  Some body language back at ya, lady.

The doctor receives her message loud and clear.  It’s entirely too early in this relationship to delve into ‘Alicia’ apparently.  Make a note.  Who’s Alicia?  Why the defense?

“I thought your name was Hazel.”

“Yes.  My family has called me by my middle name forever. 

So, as you know, I’m contracted to help find resources for this project.  Because it’s going to require the team members qualify for a high security level clearance, I’m meeting with everyone to make sure this kind of project is the right fit for you and for the contractor.  Any questions before we get started?”

“No.”

“Good.  So, I understand your role at Lockhart Gardner is investigator.  Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve been with Lockhart Gardner about five years?”

“Yes.”

“So, tell me about yourself and your work.”

Kalinda shifts a bit in her seat.  Really, she thinks to herself.  That’s an awfully wide door.  “You have it all there, don’t you; my resume and work history and recommendations and all that?”

“I do.  But I like to hear your story in your own words.”

A bit of an adrenaline shot helps Kalinda continue.  Tread carefully.  Well, if that’s how you want to play it, I can control the crafting of a picture for you.

Their conversation flows comfortably back and forth, surgically but imperceptibly guided by the doctor’s decision tree. 

As the hour is nearly exhausted, Dr. Alicia reflects on the exchange.  Well that was actually masterful bullshitting.  The sense persists that there are two stories here, sometimes out of synch, or contradictory, consistent with what we felt from the pre-meeting survey results.  Something is out of harmony.  “Well, our time is up,” says the doctor.  “It’s been a pleasure talking with you.”

Ok, that wasn’t too bad, Kalinda is thinking.  I’m clear.  How fast can I get out of here?  Kalinda rises, grabs her winter coat, and begins to bundle up.

Dr. Alicia proceeds to close the session.  “I don’t remember if I said this when our hour started,” says the doctor, executing the script to the letter, “so I want to make sure you know that I apply the same strict therapist/client confidentiality to this contracted meeting as I do for all my clinical clients, just as if you were my client asking for my help, which you are not.” 

“Ok,” says Kalinda.  “Good to know.”

“Kalinda,” adds the doctor, “the terms of this contract allow me to ask for an additional session to complete my evaluation.  I’m going to exercise that privilege with you.  I hope you don’t mind terribly.”  It wasn’t possible for Kalinda to know that the contract had no such condition in its text.

“I thought this was a one-time meeting.”

“Sometimes it takes more than one.  Nothing to be concerned about.”

Kalinda was not pleased.  “I don’t have any more time to give you.  My schedule is pretty tight.”

Interesting choice of words, noticed the doctor.  Everything about you seems ‘tight’, she’s thinking.  “I’m afraid it’s not optional.  I mean you no challenge or trouble.  Just doing my job.  I’m sure you understand.  Tomorrow, 6:00 p.m., here.”

Kalinda gives the doctor a look to let her know she will not be placated with niceties.  “Seriously, tell me why.”

The psychologist hears Kalinda’s message exactly as Kalinda intended.

She rises to meet Kalinda’s challenge.  They are eye to eye.  The tone of the psychologist’s voice changes from genial therapist to academic peer.  “You want to know what I’m thinking.”

“I do,” Kalinda answers firmly.

The doctor pauses a moment to consider the wisdom of what she’s about to do.  “Kalinda,” she says, “I think you are very bright.  I don’t know what you choose to call it, your charisma, your presence that fills a room, oh, and the hallway outside my office, by the way.  It’s off the charts.  And the way you groom yourself, you are a stunning vision.  You are at once disarming and completely covered with armor.  I imagine this combination of assets works well for you.  I bet you are very good at your job. 

I can also see that you’re playing me.  You’re really good at it.  But it doesn’t get past me.  You’re not being truthful with me.”

Kalinda is silent.

“You tell me that you have no family, your parents are dead and you have no siblings.”

“That’s the truth,” Kalinda says defensively, passionately.  Of all the crap I shoveled, that’s what you picked out?

Dr. Alicia wants a fast exchange here.  She fires off some quick short questions, hoping to elicit quick short answers before Kalinda thinks, before she can recover from the shock of the last challenge and answer.

“Who died first?”

“My father.”

“How old were you when your mother died?”

“14.”

“Alcohol?”

No answer from Kalinda.

Pay dirt, the doctor thinks.  Now I have something I can work with.

“Go now,” the doctor says.  “Try to relax this evening.  Get a good night’s sleep.  Tomorrow, we’ll talk again.”

Kalinda breaks eye contact, stunned and smarting a bit.  What the hell just happened?  When did I lose the control?   --   Kalinda has no idea she never had the control.  --   Still spinning, she reaches into the pocket of her coat and switches on her phone.  It begins to beep, flagging her missed calls and messages.  Without missing a beat, she’s on the phone, returning a call before she’s made it to the door of Dr. Alicia’s office.  “Will.”  “The psychologist’s office.”  “No, we were done.”  “Yes.”

Then she was out of Dr. Alicia’s range. 

* * *

 

 

Some moments of reflection. 

A bio break. 

A cup of hot tea with honey and cream. 

Dr. Hunt sits down at her desk, laptop in front of her, to record her notes of the session.

* * *

 

MRN:  0011266103

Record Security:  General Access

Patient ID:  Sharma, Kalinda NMN      

F 42    

DOB:  05/31/1972

Encounter: NWPS000551693327        

Encounter Date:  02/01/2014  1400

Fin:  Contract Fisher & Li LLC            

Sub Fin:  Contract LG

Allergies:  Bee sting   (link:  Medication Reconciliation)

Provider:  Hazel A. Hunt-Ferrero, Ph.D., Psychology

Sub Record Security:  Behavioral/Confidential

Provider Documentation:  02/01/2014  1544  Post Encounter – Free Notes 

* * *

 

 

Observation:  Stunning woman from head to toe, obviously of East Indian descent.  Obviously not dressed for attorney role.  Firm private investigator.  Petite but not noticed until long into the meeting, because of her big presence in the room.  Oozes confidence.  Genuine?  Manufactured façade? Either way, it has the desired effect on the inhabitants of a room.  Eye first drawn to red leather jacket, tightly constrained torso.  Eye next drawn to eyes, heavily drawn in black.  Hair arranged in a tightly constrained wrap, probably pinned to within an inch of its life.  Black from waist to dramatic boot.  Skirt a little too short for her age.

Theme:  Tightly constrained façade.  Everything about the appearance gives the signal ‘hyper sexy’, but in actuality, she is completely and tightly covered up from head to foot, with the exceptions of face, neck, horseshoe necklace, wrists and hands.  Amazing illusion.  Armor.  Hiding what?  Protecting what?

Is this how she competes in a man’s world where she is smaller than, physically weaker than, the wrong gender?  She is charming, borderline flirty, obviously smart, hyper-self-protective but I am not supposed to notice that if her presentation (manipulation) had worked as she designed.

By her own account, she is Batman at the office.  The specific super hero naming comes from the attorneys.  It’s a running joke.  She is the one who saves the day on every case of consequence.  She takes care of everything and everyone and she thrives in the role.  It is her air.  She is highly respected by the attorneys.  Because she is so effective, she is given a great deal of freedom; she has no corporate dress code; she has no corporate behavioral code; they pay her pretty much whatever she asks.  There is little if any class distinction.   She is privy to just about everything because that’s how she gets her best results for them.  Workaholic.  Overachiever.  On call 24x7 for the attorneys.

Her description of herself, her past, her job performance included truth, embellishment, avoidance and lies.

She describes growing up as privileged middle class, healthy family, suburban home and parochial school.

Review literature on adult child of alcoholic parents.

* * *

 

(link:  Therapy minutes:  60)

(link:  DSM-5:  NA)

(link:  ICD-10:  NA)

e-signature:    Hazel A. Hunt-Ferrero, Ph.D.      02/01/2014    1631   (File)

Documentation minutes:  47   (End)

* * *

 

 

 Kalinda returns to the LG offices.  As she walks the hallway, she notices Will motioning to her.  She puts a great deal of effort into appearing normal and undistracted as she makes her way to his office doorway.

“How did it go?”

Kalinda gives him a quizzical look.

“With the psychologist, how did it go?  Did you pass?”

“Not yet,” she says.  “I go back tomorrow.”

“Why?” he asks examining her face to see if he should be concerned. 

“She needs more time,” says Kalinda with the most nonchalant tone she can muster.

“Is there a problem?”

“She says not,” Kalinda responds.  Well, that’s what she said before she told me the truth, but Will doesn’t need to know that just yet. 

“So,” says Will.  “How do you feel about having to go back again?”

“Pain in the ass,” says Kalinda.  They laugh together.

Dovetailing off the lightness of the moment, Kalinda drops her little bitty bomb.  “Hypothetically, what if I don’t pass?”

“We lose the contract,” Will says.                                                                   

“Simple as that,” she says.

“Simple as that,” says Will.  “Should I be worried?”

“No,” says Kalinda, “I’ve got it covered.  Do you need me to do something for you?”

“No.  I’m headed out.  I have a dinner meeting with a client.  If you need me, call.”

“Same here, if you need me.  I’m going to find a secluded place.  I have a lot of research to do.  But my phone will be on.”

They walk out of Will’s office together, Will turning one way toward the elevators, Kalinda turning the other, in search of an empty conference room.

* * *

 

 

Kalinda settles herself in for a long night on line.  She is careful to sit with the computer screen facing the back wall.  She doesn’t want anyone reading the screen over her shoulder through the conference room glass.  She starts her search with a one word inquiry, alcoholism.  From there, suggested links – alcoholism and the family, child of alcoholic, white papers and periodical articles by university based psychiatrists and psychologists, testimonials, help organizations.  She absorbs it all.  She feels totally exposed.  It’s as if someone has been watching through her windows all her life and has written specifically of her in these articles.  It is distressing.  In its own twisted way, it’s also some relief.  After a lifetime of feeling ‘other’, she isn’t alone.  This isn’t a group she’s happy to belong to, but all of a sudden, explanations begin to emerge for so many of the difficulties of her life, difficulties she’s just powered through up to this point.

With each hour that passes, more and more offices go dark.  It doesn’t take long before Kalinda is the only one left in the LG suites.

She attacks the information like a famished person.  She can’t read fast enough.  She is putting pieces together.  She is filling in the blanks of her life.  Then there is anger to deal with.  How could they have stolen her childhood away from her like that?   Betrayal.  How could they have been so selfish to risk their lives and leave her completely alone in the world at such a young age?

She runs through some of the relationships of her life, the ones that hurt the most when they failed.

It seems unreal that their alcoholism could profoundly impact virtually every aspect of her whole life, so long after they’ve gone from this world.

She needs a brief respite.  There is so much bouncing around her head.  She needs some time for it all to compartmentalize itself in her brain before she takes in more.  She leaves the offices of LG and heads for home.  Those around her in traffic this night are not safe.  Her attentions are everywhere but on the road.

* * *

 

 

The hour is getting late.  Dr. Hunt sets her book to the side, open to the pages of interest, as she launches the internet search; Adult child of alcoholic parents.  This confirms it.  Her memory has held the details of the behavioral characteristics pretty well in full.  She finds nothing terribly new or groundbreaking in the most recent literature.  She has what she needs to proceed with confidence.  She makes her notes in preparation for tomorrow’s client session.

* * *

 

MRN:  0011266103

Record Security:  General Access

Patient ID:  Sharma, Kalinda NMN     

F 42   

DOB:  05/31/1972

Encounter: NWPS000551693327        

Encounter Date:  02/01/2014  1400

Fin:  Contract Fisher & Li LLC            

Sub Fin:  Contract LG

Allergies:  Bee sting   (link:  Medication Reconciliation)

Provider:  Hazel A. Hunt-Ferrero, Ph.D., Psychology

Sub Record Security:  Behavioral/Confidential

Provider Documentation:  02/01/2014  2127  Post Encounter – Free Notes

* * *

 

Possible differential diagnosis of adult child of alcoholic parents.                                                                                              

Prep for follow up session.  Literature review.  Typical characteristics, abridged.

\--actively attempts to simulate normal

\--feels different from other people

\--tough self-judge

\--workaholic

\--takes self seriously

\--controlling

\--perfectionist

\--overachiever

\--difficulty with intimate relationships

\--overly needy of approval

\--extremely loyal, even when there is evidence it is undeserved

\--loses self in relationship with another

\--‘love’ people who need rescuing

\--co-dependency

\--concerned more with another than self

\--difficulty feeling, expressing feelings

\--addicted to excitement

\--impulsive without consideration of possible consequences

\--self-loathing

\--chooses to lie instead of telling the truth when there are no consequences for the truth

* * *

 

(link:  Therapy minutes:  0)

(link:  DSM-5:  NA)

(link:  ICD-10:  NA)

e-signature:     Hazel A. Hunt-Ferrero, Ph.D.      02/01/2014    2204   (File)

Documentation minutes:  37  (End)

* * *

 

 

Kalinda is in her bed, propped up with pillows, laptop in her hands.  She can’t stop reading.  The hour is getting very late now, but sleeping doesn’t seem a viable option.  She’s finding herself very disturbed by the intimate description of her life.  ‘Eerie’ seems too small a word to describe the feeling of being watched, of being known.  In this world, she is hardly more than typical.  Surely the component of violence in her is unique, the manifestation of a young adult life spent with Nick. 

What if I cooperate a little with the psychologist?  I have no choice but to go see her again anyway.  The thought of letting someone invade her privacy, even a little bit, is very unsettling after a life spent pushing people away, hiding, and performing as someone else.

Kalinda can see there’s not going to be any sleeping tonight.

 

 

 


	3. The Backstory

Dr. Alicia Hunt swivels in her office chair to look out the window at the evening lights on campus.  She sees a lot of activity in the courtyard, people scurrying to their dinner plans.  Dr. Alicia spots Kalinda.  People take notice as she passes, like a wave of heads turning behind her as she makes her way across the courtyard.  She’s dressed exactly as last time.   The doctor glances at the big wall clock in her office.  Four minutes before the hour of six.

Kalinda finds all the doors to Dr. Alicia’s office building unattended and open.  She strolls into the office and finds the doctor behind her desk.

“Right on time,” says the doctor.  The smile she displays is calculated and deliberate, meant to set the mood of ease, welcome, safety, unconditional acceptance.  She rises from her chair and moves toward Kalinda, extending her hand.

Kalinda responds.  “The building is pretty empty this time of day.”

The doctor makes a quick overall assessment of Kalinda.  Any noticeable difference since the introduction of the subject of alcoholism and a full day to process the concept?  She seems strong and together.

“Yes.  It’s the end of the work day for some, the dinner hour for others.  It’s my favorite hour of the day in the office for reflecting.

Have a seat.  Get comfortable,” offers the doctor.

Kalinda takes off her coat, revealing that today’s leather jacket is gray.  She chooses the same seat on the sofa as last time.

“Comfortable isn’t really the right word for all this.  No offense.”

Dr. Alicia continues to scan for any signs of deterioration from yesterday’s comportment.  “None taken.”

Kalinda jumps right in.  “What do I need to do to make this the final session?”

The doctor isn’t expecting the directness.  “This is already a good start,” she says.  “You’re being up front with me.  Let the walls down a little, let the armor slip away a little, answer my questions.  This is a safe room.”

“It’s not in my nature to talk.”

“I can imagine that,” says the doctor.                

There is an exchange of looks, thoughts shared without words.  I don’t want to do this.  I know.

“You can trust me,” offers the doctor. 

“I don’t do the trust thing,” Kalinda tells her. 

The doctor isn’t surprised.  “I know.”  She tries to ease her a bit.  “Everything that happens or is said in this room is strictly confidential.  There is no higher code in my work.”

Kalinda has already committed to herself, before arriving at Dr. Alicia’s office, that she is going to try to be open to this.  She isn’t sure if what she’s learned about herself is going to help her slay some old ghosts, or send her off a cliff.  The mere thought of letting someone help her is foreign and frightening.  But what she’s read in the past 24 hours has freaked her out enough to take the risk.

Kalinda removes her leather jacket and lays it carefully over the side of a chair.

The doctor takes note.  Kalinda’s under layer has her torso as tightly constrained as her outer layer had.  But it is a symbolic gesture and it is definitely progress. Kalinda is here to cooperate, as much as she is able.

“Do you ever let your hair down, literally or figuratively?”

“No.”

“No?”  Two steps forward.  One step back.  The doctor has been gently warned not to push too far.

“What do you want from me?” Kalinda asks.

Direct, again, and right down to business.  Dr. Alicia reciprocates.

“I want to find that you are psychologically stable.  I want to find that you can manage any challenge in this project with mature healthy coping skills that maintain the integrity of you, and of the classified information.”  Momentary pause.  Here the doctor wordlessly insists on eye contact.  “In that order.”

Dr. Alicia pauses again to watch Kalinda digest the statement of goal, but most importantly, of priorities.  The doctor, satisfied that she has been heard and understood, resumes.  “Let’s talk about alcoholism, and the psychology of the adult child of alcoholic parents.”  Dr. Alicia pauses deliberately, dramatically.  “Am I in the right arena?”

Kalinda has already broken eye contact.  “Yes.”

“Do you drink?”

“Yes.”

“Do you drink a lot?”

“Sometimes, yes.”

“Do you get drunk?”

“Never.”

Really never, wondered the doctor?  Truth?  Or is this denial? 

The doctor knows that if conditions are right, the next question could potentially open the flood gates.

“How was alcohol in your life as a child?”

“I haven’t thought of anything else since you put the idea in my head yesterday.  Reflecting now, I’m realizing that in all my memories of my father, he was drunk.  He always drank with his friends before he came home.  Sometimes the friends came home with him and they got drunk in our home.  For as far back as I can remember, my mother taught me that it was our job to cook and clean and take care of daddy.  She set down a rule that was never to be broken.  Anytime daddy brought home his friends, I was to go to my room and lock myself in.  She made sure my room was a nice place to be for hours on end.”

“Was he a mean drunk, or violent or abusive?” asks the doctor.

“Never.”  Kalinda pauses.  “Never to me.”

Dr. Alicia makes a mental note of the distinction… maybe for later.

“And your mom, would she get drunk too?”

“She would drink with him, when he insisted.  After he died, her drinking became an everyday thing.”

“Tell me about that change in your mom.  How did your dad die?”

“I was 12.  I was ready for school but there was no breakfast on the table.  I found my mother at the front door, panicked, talking to a cop.  She rushed me off to school.  When I came home from school, the police had returned.  My father had been found drunk, in an alley, dead from hypothermia.”

“Did she have any means to support you two after he died?”

“Now that you mention it, I can’t imagine how she would.”

The doctor chose to let that go.  It may or may not come to her.

“She was a different person after that.  She drank a lot more.  She brought men home.  I did as I’d been taught.  I was big enough on my own to be responsible for cooking and cleaning and taking care of my mother.  I locked myself in my room whenever she brought home a stranger.”

“Which was a lot?” asks the doctor.

“Ya.  A lot.”

“So you were 12 when you lost your dad, but really you were 12 when you lost your mom?” notices the doctor.

“I guess that’s true.  She lived two more years.”

“What happened to your mom?” the doctor asks.

“By the time I was 14, I locked myself in my bedroom every night.  One night, in the middle of the night, I heard loud voices.  I came out and found three neighbors in our apartment, the woman we knew as an emergency nurse, her adult son and her daughter.  She was touching my mother and barking orders.  To her son, ‘get him out of here’, ‘call the police’.  To her daughter, ‘call an ambulance’, ‘watch the girl’.  I watched my mother, the nurse and the ambulance speed away, and I was left alone with the daughter.  She was very kind to me.  She stayed all night with me.  I could tell she was trying to keep me calm.  She helped me get ready for child services who would come early in the morning to take me to a foster home, you know, pack a bag.  They placed me with an Indian foster family that morning, and I got signed up for a new school the next day.”

“How was the foster home?”

“It was fine,” Kalinda pauses, “at first.   I was there almost four years.”

Dr. Alicia takes note – ‘at first’. 

“So, your mom died that night?”

“No, not that night,” Kalinda answers.  “I had a hard time getting news about her.  I’d ask the foster mother a lot.  She got tired of that real fast.  She said my mother was probably recovering, and if she knew anything more than that, she’d tell me, so stop asking.

That’s when I was obedient, so I stopped asking.  I trusted that she would tell me if she knew anything.  But she wasn’t good for her word.  It had been a long time with no news.  And I asked again.  To this day I can still hear her answer word for word.  ‘Oh, didn’t I tell you?  She died about a month ago’.”

“I’m so sorry.”  The doctor watches Kalinda try to push away the pain of bringing those words to top of memory.

“I don’t remember a lot about that night.  I know I wept into my pillow all night.  I know I made a vow to trust no one ever again.  I remember the thought seeping into my pores; I have no family; I’m completely alone.  I could either fall apart or I could become a fortress.  I decided to be a fortress.   I haven’t cried since.”

“Not since your were 14?”  The doctor is finding that a very disturbing admission.

Kalinda is aware that the statement isn’t literally true.  But it is damned near true, with that one exception.  Alicia.

“I remember when I emerged the next morning for school, I felt like a different person.  They told me my color was funny.  Ashen, they said.”

“You were angry,” says the doctor.

“Yes.”

“Hurt and betrayed,” the doctor adds gently.

“I shut off from everyone.  It was a safer way for me to be.  Most days, the foster mother would tell me that no proper Indian man would ever have me.  I was so moody.”

“Did you get any grief counseling?” asks Dr. Alicia.

Kalinda gives the doctor a look of disbelief.  “What?  No!  Rich people’s luxury.

I lost a lot of weight.  I know she was worried about getting in trouble with the foster system or the school.”

“On purpose?”

“No.  Well, not at first.  But then a little bit yes, when I saw how terrified she was.  I let it get a little out of hand before I stopped.  She squirmed pretty good.  It was some revenge.”

The doctor’s reflecting on what she’s heard thus far.  “So, that was the first emergence of the untouchable Kalinda?”

“Untouchable?”  Kalinda is surprised to hear her use that term.

“Maybe not literally, but certainly figuratively, yes, untouchable.  Today, you are certainly a woman with armor and walls you let very few people see behind.”

Kalinda pauses a moment to take in the doctor’s assessment.  “Back then, there was a teacher, actually a student teacher.”

“Did you let her know you a little?” asks the doctor.

“She was young and she made a big deal about something I wrote in class, a story.  Not like all the other teachers who were constantly telling me I wasn’t performing up to my potential.  I got so tired of hearing that.  She became my first friend, well, for a while, well, as much as a teacher is allowed.”

The doctor is taken aback.  “So, you didn’t have little friends in elementary school?”

“No.  I could never have a friend.  A friend would expect to come to your home.”

Dr. Alicia is picturing a person of adult responsibilities housed in the body of a small girl.  Sadly, Kalinda’s is not a unique story.

“How did it feel to have a friend like this teacher?”

“I looked up to her.  She set me on my path,” Kalinda shares with affection.

“What do you mean?”

“That story I wrote, it was really just the beginning of a story.  It was about a girl investigating the circumstances of her mother’s death.  She encouraged me to write another chapter.  She told me about some ‘Nancy something’ mystery books she loved as a kid.  A kid could be a detective, she said.  She didn’t know, but she gave me the courage to go to the police station in the old neighborhood in Toronto and ask questions.  The cops blew me off, but the women, the clerks, helped me.  I noticed right away that they knew as much or more than the cops.  They informally ran the station.  They coordinated everything.  With their help, I found out most of what I felt I needed to know of my mother’s death and I found where she was buried.  They told me to finish high school and come back.  They’d make sure I got a job.  That’s what I did.”

“So you didn’t go to parochial school?”

“Not actually,” says Kalinda.  “I graduated from public school and went straight to the police station.  I loved it and I was good at it.  People counted on me for things and I could deliver.  Sometimes I did things I wasn’t supposed to know how to do.  It felt good to be counted on by people who were doing something important.

I had a husband.  I helped him stay out of trouble with the law, until I got tired of being punched, and conveniently forgot to help him stay out of the way of the law.  He went to prison and I ran across the border.  I changed my name so he couldn’t follow me.”

At the mention of her husband, Kalinda notices, an almost imperceptibly small relaxation of Dr. Alicia’s posture.

“What?” says Kalinda.

“What?” says the doctor.

“What did I just say that changed you?” says Kalinda.

Damn, she’s good, the doctor is thinking.  Can she see my thoughts click?  Not multiple personalities.

“What was your other name?”

“Can I refuse to answer that?”

“Yes,” says the doctor.

Kalinda repeats her question.  “What did I just say that changed you?”

The doctor feels she needs to be careful here.  She needs to give an answer worthy of Kalinda’s intelligence and equal in respect to the commitment she is showing in this session. 

“Let’s just say I had a sense of duality.  Involuntary duality would have been a barrier.  But it seems we’re talking about a deliberate second self.  So I relaxed a bit.”  The doctor is pleased with her choice.  Duality sounds softer than dissociative identity or multiple personalities.  There is no need to freak her out with a scary sounding diagnosis that has just been taken completely off the table.

“Tell me about your husband and why you felt you needed to run and hide.”

“I met him when we were 15.  He was placed in the same foster home.  His mom had been an addict all his life and he had anger and violence problems.  School was a nightmare for him.  We both hated the foster mother so we became tight friends.  When he’d go off, I was the only one who could talk him down.  Even at school, I’d get called out of class if Nick was out of control.”

Transference.  The doctor picks it up immediately.  Parents to Nick.

“He needed me and when I could help him, I felt important.”

Co-dependence.

“There was a private Catholic school in our neighborhood, St. Mary’s.  We hung out there at night.  Vandalizing the school helped Nick feel in control of something in his life.  I kept him in check.  He never did anything terribly damaging to the school.

He was around for almost a year before he ran away.  Child services could never find him but he always let me know where he was.  When he was gone, I found it hard to be without him.

In my senior year, I used to sneak onto the St. Mary’s campus for the last two classes of their day.  I guess I felt Nick there.  I’d sit behind a tall shrub next to an open window where I could hear what was going on in class.  I’d get there in time for senior year religion, and then AP world history.  One day, I found a stool and a history book there.  Both the teacher and I pretended she didn’t know I was there.”

They laugh together.

“I didn’t walk in my high school graduation ceremony.  I couldn’t afford the cap and gown, but I watched from the sidelines.  I picked up an abandoned tassel from the ground after the ceremony.   I left it at St. Mary’s, on the stool, dangling from the pages of the history book.  I wanted her to know what I’d achieved.  And that I wouldn’t be back. 

“So you kinda sorta went to Catholic school.”

“Ya.  Kinda, sorta.”  Kalinda smiles.  “I don’t know why I’m telling you this story.”

“Another teacher had an impact on a smart, needy kid.  We live for those opportunities; the chances to make those connections; to change a life through learning.”

Kalinda looks at the doctor and smiles.  The doctor’s eyes are just the slightest bit moist.  Ahhh, Kalinda thinks to herself, I forgot that you’re a teacher.

“After graduation, I married Nick.  No decent Indian man was ever going to have me, I’d been told.  I was so moody.  Life with Nick was about gangs and guns and knives and fist fights and cocaine and finally prison.”

The doctor reflects on the picture drawn for her.  “Physical abuse?  Sexual abuse?”

Kalinda didn’t respond.

The doctor is seeing the signs of shut down at this point.  Can she coax out any more?  “There’s more you’re not telling me.”

Kalinda feels it’s time to stop.  The arson.  The faked death.  The identity theft.  Too much.  “I’m exhausted.”

Dr. Alicia accepts the bar.  “I bet.  That was a lot for one day.”  The doctor has put enough pieces of the puzzle together to feel confident that Kalinda poses no risk to the security of Fisher Li’s project.  “I’m authorizing you for the project.  I appreciate how hard you worked today.

You know, your life doesn’t fit ‘normal’, whatever that means.  I have no use for that word.  You’ve twisted the variables of a life lived to define your own normal, and it’s effective and psychologically healthy on _your_ scale, uniquely for you.  Your intellect, in no small part, is responsible for your survival.  So there!  You’ve been performing up to your potential.”

They both smile.

“So, you surfed the net last night didn’t you?”  Dr. Alicia knows the answer to the question before she asks.

“Yes,” admits Kalinda.

“Instead of sleeping.”  The doctor doesn’t phrase it as a question.  She knows it’s a statement.  The doctor already knows the answer to her next question before she asks.  “Do you want me to share my thoughts?  Like last time?  Straight and clinical?”

“Yes.”

“So, when I say classic hero type, responsible type, you’ve read this on line?”

“Yes.”

“Workaholic?  Perfectionist?  Overachiever?”

“Yes.”

The doctor knows Kalinda wants this straight.  She knows this will be the hardest hit.  “There isn’t a way to do much candy coating here.  There are some other traits, maybe not so quasi-complimentary sounding.”

“I know.”

The doctor begins, her voice quiet and non-judgmental.

“--tough self-judge

\--manipulative

\--actively attempts to simulate normal

\--feels different from other people

\--seductive, provocative, promiscuous

\--drawn into relationships that are emotionally or physically abusive

\--extremely loyal, even when there is evidence it is undeserved

\--loses self in a relationship with another

\--co-dependent

\--difficulties with intimate relationships”

Kalinda takes it all in with her eyes cast to the floor.

The doctor attempts to soften the jolt a bit.  “So there are some words.  They’re just words.”  Not her finest professional moment.  Balancing compassion and professional distance can be hard; harder with some than with others.

“They’re- not just words,” says Kalinda.  They’re my life, and it’s eerie as hell.  I’m a damned textbook case.  “How do I fix myself?”

The doctor is a little surprised.  No self-pity?  She’s moving straight on to solution.  “I don’t know that you need to be fixed.  You are who you are.  You’re functioning.  You’re moderating on your own.  You’re coping.  Just continue the best of what you’ve been doing.  Avail yourself of help when you feel you need it.  That means me, if you’re comfortable with me.  Otherwise, I’ll find you another therapist.  Kalinda, are you hearing me?”

“Yes.”

“Look at me.”  The doctor leans forward, wondering if a touch is right here.  She opts not.  She speaks with emphasis.  “Listen to this.  Being self-aware gives you that much more power over your choices.  That’s where your strength is.  That’s how you exert control over this.  Overall, I think you’re pretty damned fantastic.  I think what you’ve achieved in your life, considering the crap you got dealt as a kid, deserves a freaking award.”

A brief time for pause, for them both to breathe.

“How are you feeling?” asks the doctor.

Kalinda didn’t have words at the ready.  “I don’t know.”

The doctor let the silence just be.

“Shell shocked.”   It was a pretty accurate descriptor.

“Pissed!” 

 There it is, thinks the doctor.  I thought you’d been awfully reasonable about this whole thing.

“Too sober,” Kalinda says to the doctor, a pained smile on her face.

“Under the circumstances, that’s not quite as funny as it otherwise might have been,” says the doctor.  She knows Kalinda is acutely aware of the poetry.

“Let’s call our session complete for today.”  “Kalinda,” says the doctor, “I’d like to see you again.  This time it’s optional, but I hope you’ll come back.  Here, 6pm, day after tomorrow.”

The doctor doesn’t want to just bounce her out of the room after such a profound catharsis.  “If you like, you’re welcome to stay and get some tea with me.”  Taboo?  Screw it.  Not with this one.

“Thanks.  But I’m just going to go now.”

The doctor quietly watches as Kalinda prepares to leave.

Kalinda, just slightly in a fog, picks up her leather jacket, puts it on, and ceremoniously fastens fasteners and zips zippers; her winter coat and its buttons come next.  Then she takes her exit from the office.


	4. Little Orange Books

 

Kalinda is still in her own world as she crosses the campus courtyard and lets herself into her car.  There is a picture in her head.  She is in her childhood kitchen, her mother at the table, writing in her little orange diaries.  Her mother tells her that it is the responsibility of the mother to record the important events of the family.  Grandmother taught her about that, and when the time comes, she will teach Leela.  Leela knew that on the top shelf of the cupboard, was a box filled with these little orange diaries.  Leela took the box of diaries with her to the foster home.  She took them with her when she married Nick.  She packed them just before she set the Toronto house ablaze.  She put them in a safe deposit box in a bank in Buffalo 16 years ago.  The time has come to retrieve them and read them.

Kalinda comes out of her head and opens a search on her phone; tomorrow’s flight times O’Hare to Buffalo.  Fly out in the early morning, fly back in the afternoon.

She composes a text to Will.  ‘Need to talk to you.’

Will responds immediately.  ‘Did you fail?’

‘I passed.  Can we meet tonight?’

‘I’m at the gym.  Place across the street.  20 minutes?’

‘I can be there in 20.  Thanks.’ 

* * *

 

 

Kalinda arrives at their meeting place before Will, and spots two vacant stools.  She claims them, and orders a drink.

Will arrives shortly thereafter.  He places his hand on her back and leans in.  He’s obviously fresh out of the shower.  His hair is still wet.  He smells like soap.  “You passed.  That’s good news.”  He sits on the stool beside hers and orders a drink.  “What’s up?”

“I need some days off,” says Kalinda, “It’s important.”

“You ok?” asks Will.

“Ya.  I’m fine.”

“How many days?”

“Most of a week, maybe,” she responds.  “I have some family legacy business to see to.”

“You don’t have a family,” Will says.

“But I must have at some point, don’t you think?  I couldn’t have come from nothing.  I need to take care of some final closure on something.”

“Sorry for your loss,” Will says.

Kalinda gives him a ‘don’t be stupid’ look.  “It was decades ago.”

Will adds, “Diane was worried about you and these psychologist meetings.”

“Diane was?”  Kalinda sends a knowing look his way.

“Well, I was too,” says Will.  “We didn’t think you’d have the patience for that therapist nonsense.”

“Don’t I always have your back, Will?”

“Yes, you do.”

“So, I need to disappear for a few days.  You can manage if I’m not reachable?”

“Yes.  Go.”  Will pauses for a moment.  It went unsaid, but he didn’t want it unsaid.  “Come back.”

“I’ll be back.  I promise.”

She gives him a smile, grips his forearm with affection, and she’s gone.

Will doesn’t know if he is worried or grateful for his friend.  Someone, it seems, has succeeded in reaching behind her curtain.  In the time he’s known Kalinda, he’s not known anyone to see the mystery behind the walls, not even Alicia really, and she would have been the one most likely to succeed.  He hopes it is for the good, for her good.

* * *

 

 

Dr. Hunt is closing all her business for the day, getting ready for sleep.

* * *

 

MRN:  0011266103

Record Security:  General Access

Patient ID:  Sharma, Kalinda NMN      

F 42    

DOB:  05/31/1972

Encounter: NWPS000551693327         

Encounter Date:  Revisit:   02/02/2014  1800

Fin:  Contract Fisher & Li LLC             

Sub Fin:  Contract LG

Allergies:  Bee sting   (link:  Medication Reconciliation)

Provider:  Hazel A. Hunt-Ferrero, Ph.D., Psychology

Sub Record Security:  Behavioral/Confidential

Provider Documentation:  02/02/2014  2127  Post Encounter – Free Notes

* * *

 

Diagnosis confirmed.  Adult child of alcoholic parents.

Observed apparent high level of intelligence.  Reviewed/evaluated impact of parental alcohol abuse on childhood development.

All previously recorded concerns satisfactorily addressed.  No psychopathology present.

Well managed coping mechanisms.

Recommended for contractor project team.

Future sessions are offered if needed.  Ms. Sharma will control the option.

* * *

 

(link:  Therapy minutes:  60)

(link:  DSM-5:  NA)

(link:  ICD-10:  NA)

e-signature:     Hazel A. Hunt-Ferrero, Ph.D.      02/02/2014    2303  (File)

Documentation minutes:   4     (End)

* * *

 

 

It’s nearly time to leave for the airport.  Kalinda pulls a briefcase on wheels from the back of her closet.  She never uses it.  The dust can attest to that.  It’ll be perfect for transporting the contents of the safe deposit box in Buffalo.

O’Hare is O’Hare.   Same shit.  Different day. 

Buffalo is a significantly smaller airport.  Getting to the taxi curb is quick and easy.  Kalinda gets into a taxi and gives the driver her destination, Bank of America.  She smiles, remembering herself much younger, much less jaded, liking the poetry of the idea that her mother’s diaries should be housed in the Bank, _of America_.  It seemed fitting, and a little bit funny.  Little did she know at the time, how many more envelopes she’d push in her new life to come.

The taxi pulls up in front of the bank.  The taxi driver gives her a card with a number on it.  His company can provide her rides all over Buffalo today as needed.  They have her credit card information and it can be done easily and without fuss.

Kalinda gets out and looks at the edifice.  It hasn’t changed at all in 16 years.  She pushes the door of the bank and walks into the center court.  She spots the desks for customer service and makes her way in that direction.   She gets attention immediately.  It’s one of the nice perks of looking the way she does.  The gentleman is happy to help her with her business although he is disappointed he’ll be closing her account and helping her empty her safe deposit box.  He hopes she’ll come back again soon if they can help her with any of her future banking needs.  Down boy.  He leaves her alone with her safe deposit box.  She opens it.  As she remembers, there is the box, not much bigger than a shoe box, a gun, some ammunition and some cash.  Everything fits well into her briefcase on wheels.   She leaves the empty safe deposit box on the table.   Then she exits the building.

She knows she won’t make it into an airport with the gun and ammunition.  She makes a call for a taxi, and within moments, one pulls up in front of her.  She asks to be taken to the Buffalo PD gun-buy-back desk.  It is a little déjà vu to be at the Buffalo PD.  She’s been gone an awfully long time, 14 years.  She doesn’t expect to be recognized by anyone, and she doesn’t expect to see anyone she’ll remember.  Without any fanfare, she gives up the gun and the ammunition.  The cash for the gun, she says, can go into a police fund, she doesn’t care which.  No, she doesn’t want to put her name on the donation; ‘anonymous’ will be fine.  They gracefully accept.

As she’d asked, the taxi waited for her.  To the airport, please. 

She is at the gate for her return flight much too early.  She feels a tremendous urge to get on with this.  She doesn’t want to wait for her scheduled flight.  The impulse to open the box of her mother’s diaries is more overwhelming than she can bear, but she knows she doesn’t want to do it in the airport terminal.  She wants to make a ceremony of it.    She finds a flight that is in final boarding, with an empty seat.  She’ll have to run, but she takes it.  Maybe this is a lucky omen, one that might extend into her reading tonight.  The realist in her, however, knows that it is likely the diaries will not tell a happy story. 

* * *

 

 

Kalinda unlocks the door to her apartment.    She wheels the briefcase into the bedroom, opens it, takes out the box of her mother’s diaries, and places it on the bed.  She’s been thinking about how exactly she wants to do this.  She starts by taking her hair down.  Then she showers.  She wants all her make up off.  She wants to be her purest, unperfumed, unpainted self, like she was when she last saw her mother.  It isn’t quite evening yet, but she’s choosing bed clothes.  She makes herself a big mug of tea and sets it on her bedside table.  Then she pulls back the bedding and makes a special spot for the box in the center of the mattress.  She climbs into bed, sitting cross legged with the box in front of her.  She pulls the sheet up over her head so that it forms a tent with her and the box.  She has dared to fantasize that a sealed box that has been protected and unopened for thirty years might still contain the scents of her mother and her kitchen.  Excitement and foreboding struggle with each other as she touches the lid of the box and lifts.  She is not disappointed.  The aromas are very faint, but they rush over her like a wave.  Quickly, they are diluted by present day air.  There are twelve little orange books in the box.  The first five have been used.  Seven are pristine.  It feels like a religious ritual.  Kalinda takes the first book into her hands.  She opens to the first page.

‘30 November 1970.  My dearest daughter, like my mother before me and her mother before her, I give you this special gift on the happy day of your engagement to marry.  You assume the responsibility to record the history of your family for your children and your children’s children.  You will write of the joyful and the sad, the births and the deaths.  You will one day pass these books down to your daughter, as I will one day pass my books down to you, as my mother will one day pass her books and the books of her mother down to me.  Thus is the family history kept.  It has been your father’s responsibility to find you a suitable match to continue the generations.  He has done this with love.’  Slipped in between the pages are two fading photographs.  The first is a black and white photo of Kalinda’s mother as an infant, with two proud parents.  The second is a crudely-colored Polaroid, one of the earliest ones, of Kalinda’s mother as a young woman with two proud parents.

‘4 March 1971.  Today I became a wife to my husband.  My father has made me a happy match.’  A wedding picture and a honeymoon picture are tucked into the pages. 

’11 July 1971.  I have talked to my mother about my troubles.  We wept together.   She says it is my duty to remain in the home of my husband, by his side.’  Kalinda’s whole body tenses.   She stiffens her spine and sheds the tent.  “Oh, my God.  What went so wrong so fast?” 

She stops reading slowly and deliberately.  She scans as fast as she can to search for bits, for signs, for answers.

Her mother-in-law hated her, left bruises on her when the others weren’t looking.  She didn’t want this match.  You are not worthy of my son.  Month after month, she would demean her.  Still, there is no son in your belly.  You are a bad wife.  The circle of extreme stress; no let up, not one day, not one moment.  When she finally conceived, you are too nervous.  You’re not carrying a good pregnancy.  You are a bad wife.

Sisters-in-law.  Your father is not very smart to be tricked into this match.  Worthless drunk, gambler.  They were resentful.  The whole family was uprooted from London, a life they loved, to get him away from his criminal friends; men of other cultures and less noble upbringings.  They put him to work in his brothers’ businesses.  He was terrible at the work. 

The demeaning of him was unrelenting.  The conflict between his mother and his wife could not be borne.  He moved himself and his wife far away to Toronto to escape his family.  He took up his old ways with a new group of friends.  She feared giving birth without her mother.  They had not been gone a year when her father’s eldest brother made a surprise visit to Toronto.   He was to check on them, and deliver the news that the family was going back to London.  What he saw was his young brother and wife, in very modest living conditions, both consuming alcohol with unsavory people of other cultures.   A young child was present.  He reported back to the families.  Kalinda’s mother wrote of being cast off, disconnected from both families.  Her letters to her mother were returned to sender.  Pictures of the baby were returned to sender.  Kalinda is finding this especially disturbing.  Her mother’s parents were probably young enough to have cared for her when she was orphaned.  She could have been, she should have been spared the foster system.

Her mother wrote of getting up the courage to challenge her husband.  She’d taken notice of changing times for women.  “Times are not changing for Indian women”, her father shouted at her mother.  Kalinda remembers this fight very clearly.  The apartment was very small.  There was literally nothing that happened between her mother and father that Leela didn’t witness.  She was nine, she thinks, maybe ten, when they fought like this.  It was the only time her mother ever raised her voice to her husband.  Leela knew at the time, that the fight was about her, but she didn’t understand anything more.  She remembers her father saying, “I am the father.  I will make these decisions.”  Her mother screamed at the top of her lungs, “Not while I draw breath.”  Her delicate, well-mannered mother!  “I followed you.  I have been your wife.  You took me away from my mother and broke my heart.  Because of you, my mother will not see me.  You make us dependent upon these terrible people.”  Her father shouted back, “You are still just a little princess.  We don’t live in a world of princesses anymore.”  Nothing like this ever happened again.  Her mother’s diary entry explained.  At an early age, the visitors in their home from her father’s outside world, would comment on what a pretty little girl she was.  They were curious about the culture’s tradition of arranged marriages.  Her mother was unnerved.  She was determined to keep Leela away from these men at all costs.  She created a child’s world in her bedroom and installed a lock on the bedroom door that was controlled from the inside.  Leela’s mother taught her how to operate the lock.  This is where she would go when strangers came into the house.  The fight broke out when her father began talking of making a match for Leela among those terrible people of whom her mother spoke.  Her mother was fierce.  ‘She will choose for herself!’  Her father, exhausted, weary, browbeaten, convinced she would forever be like a dog on a bone, relented.

There is another entry in her mother’s books; a topic that has recurred throughout her whole life.  Her mother wrote of reports from school teachers that she performed in class, far below her ability.  ‘I am ashamed,’ her mother wrote. ‘This home is not good enough to nurture the gift of my precious girl.’

Kalinda opens an internet search. What is the impact of extreme maternal stress on fetal development?  This is challenging reading.  There are lists of somatic problems associated with fetal stress.  She is not afflicted with any of them.   There are also studies of the psychological impact.  During fetal development, differentiation of the genitals takes place at a much earlier stage than the sexual differentiation of the brain, so these two processes can be influenced independently.  She’s not a scientist, but even she can see where this is going.   Periods of extreme maternal stress can change the balance of hormone levels for the fetus.  Hormone levels determine the sexual differentiation of the brain… the research is incomplete, but…  even she can see where this is going.  This is giving her a headache.  She falls asleep among the five little orange books strewn about the mattress.

* * *

 

 

When she wakes, she starts again from book one, page one; slowly, deliberately, painstakingly, feeling every word. 


	5. The Horseshoe Necklace

 

 Dr. Alicia Hunt looks over her calendar for the day.

Kalinda Sharma is on the schedule for 18:00.   There’s really no telling if she’ll show up.   I suppose if I’d like to increase the chance of seeing her, a change of venue could be a good tactic.

The doctor grabs her smart phone and begins composing a text for Kalinda.  ‘I can’t spend one more hour in this office!  Pick a place for us to drink and talk tonight, 18:00ish’.  Almost immediately, the doctor gets a response, an address.  Small victories.  They can feel so big sometimes.

* * *

 

 

Dr. Alicia arrives at the bar a few minutes early.  She grabs a quiet booth for two and orders a drink.

Her drink is arriving when she sees Kalinda walk in.  Kalinda spots her and nods.  She stops at the bar and orders a drink.  Kalinda is known here.  While she waits for her drink, she is surrounded.  Kalinda bewitches the men and women alike.  It is a privilege to watch this exquisite wild animal in her natural habitat, top of the food chain.

Kalinda picks up her drink from the bar and starts to walk the long corridor to the booth where the doctor waits.  The doctor notices that she is a little dressed down compared to their last meetings, no leather.  Especially notable, though; her hair is in a ponytail, not pinned up.

“You let your hair down, sort of,” says the doctor.

Kalinda sits down opposite her in the booth.  “For you.  I feel naked.”

“It’s really long.  It must be beautiful flowing loose,” remarks the doctor.

“It is,” Kalinda teases, telling her with a look alone, ‘you’ll never know.’

The doctor picks up on it right away.  She lets out a guffaw and her whole face lights up.  It is a noise almost primal, uncharacteristic, unexpected, mismatched to her outer aura of the consummate professional.  Kalinda likes her just a little bit more for it.

“How are you?” asks the doctor.  “You’ve been through a lot this week.”

“I’m fine.  Really.” 

Dr. Alicia reads her face.  “Something is new.  What is new?”

How does she do that?  “My mother kept diaries,” Kalinda says.  “I’d never opened them before.  No wonder I’m all effed up.”  She thinks the doctor will appreciate her attempt to downplay the obscenity.

“Were there surprises in the diaries?” asks Dr. Alicia.

“Nothing earth shattering.  Everything we had assumed.  A little more.  It was more unsettling than I expected to have the details confirmed.  Her marriage was hard on her.  Her childhood didn’t prepare her to be anything other than a princess.  Maybe I’m lucky.  Mine prepared me to be hard as nails and self-sufficient.”

Dr. Alicia smiles.  “Is this the part where I pretend to believe that you are hard as nails?

Should we meet and talk about it?”

“No,” answers Kalinda.  “Actually, I feel like I’m handling it ok.”

The doctor looks for signs for how to proceed.  “Ok,” she says, trusting Kalinda’s self-assessment.

They sit in silence for a minute.

“Can I ask about this horseshoe necklace?  I’ve seen it three times now.  It doesn’t look like fine jewelry, so I’m guessing it has sentimental value?”

“It was a gift from the neighbor girl that night I lost my mother.  She took it off her own neck and gave it to me.  It was good luck from her grandmother she said.  She was worried that it might be forbidden or something in Hindu, but I knew little to nothing about Hindu.”

“And you’ve worn it every day?  Since you were 14?” asks the doctor.

“Nearly every day. Ya.” 

“So, do you come here often?”  The doctor immediately hears how pick-up-line that sounds and they both laugh.  “I just mean that you seem to know everyone here.  You’re a pied piper.  Are all those people your friends?”

“I know some.  Some are new to me.”

“Everyone is attracted to you.”

“Ya, to my charisma.  You’re immune.” 

“I’m not immune,” says the doctor.

“I collect people, but I don’t have real friends.  I’m not too forthcoming as a friend.  People either accept that or they’re gone.”  Kalinda remembers confessing to Will from a place of pain, ‘I never have to confide in anyone.’  “It scares the crap out of me… how much I say to you.”

“Do you want to change that?  Honestly, I’d be disappointed if you did.  But I’d respect your choice.”

Who is this woman, thinks Kalinda?  She’s never met anyone before who didn’t have something she was selling or buying.  Kalinda can’t find her ulterior motive. 

“Can I say something serious and then I’ll lighten it up?”  The doctor doesn’t get any objection.  “About what we’ve been through together this week, I do understand how traumatic this talking is for you, and I’m honored because I know you don’t share or trust ever.”

“So, what?  Are we friends now?” asks Kalinda, trying to start that lightening up.

Dr. Alicia hesitates a moment as she processes the suggestion.  “I have some obligations to the Fisher & Li contract, so I’m constrained a little bit, but outside of the confines of that, I’d like that very much.  Was that too convoluted?”

Kalinda is enjoying watching the doctor juggle the variables in her head.  “Spoken like a true shrink.”

“If we’re friends, I can’t be your therapist.”

“Easy choice for me,” says Kalinda.  “I shouldn’t need a therapist.  I have a friend.”  Oh, gees, this is her livelihood.  I bet she doesn’t give it away.  “Are you cool with that?”

“I’m cool with that,” says the doctor.

“I haven’t had good luck with friends named Alicia in the past.”

“That’s the first time you’ve addressed me by my name.  So, are you going to tell me now?  Who is THE Alicia in your life?”

Kalinda’s weighing the decision; to share; or to refuse.

The doctor can see exactly what she is doing.  It’s all over her face.

“Alicia Florrick.  The governor’s wife.”

“Of the big scandal?” says the doctor. 

“Yes.”

“Wow.  That surprises me.  That’s an unexpected pairing.”

Kalinda let her eyebrows respond for her.

“She’s straight,” says the doctor.

Kalinda smiles.  So, the doctor doesn’t miss a thing.

“Very straight.  What?  You don’t think I can have a straight girlfriend?” asks Kalinda.

“I see a little this, and a little that.”

“Are those clinical terms, doctor?”  They both laugh.

“Ya,” Kalinda continues.  “She was always trying to put me in a box too.  I don’t distinguish.”

Dr. Alicia took a moment to evaluate the meaning of ‘I don’t distinguish.’  “You flirt with me a little.”

“I flirt with everyone if I like, or if I need something,” Kalinda volunteers.

“Can I ask?  Why aren’t you friends anymore?”  The doctor watches as Kalinda’s face subtly changes from playful to pained. 

“It’s hard to talk about it.”

“Ok.”  Dr. Alicia physically leans away a little, so as to respect the distance Kalinda seems to need from the memory.

“He fixed some problems I had with my name change.”

He?   Who he?  Peter Florrick?!!

Suppressing her shock like the pro she is, the doctor calmly comments, “That’s sounding maybe not so strictly legal.  And there was a price for his help?”

Kalinda isn’t responding.

Like everyone in the state, Dr. Alicia remembers the news stories about the previous State’s Attorney’s proclivity to entertain women not his wife.

The doctor turns on protective mode.  Kalinda’s been through enough this week.  Change the subject.  Drink.  People watch.  After all, what better place than a bar to do that?  Laugh.  



	6. There's No Crying In Baseball

 

 

03/24/2014

The day is coming to a close.  Dr. Alicia Hunt and her husband are sitting propped up in their bed, each with a laptop.  At the same time is the local nightly news broadcast.  The doctor’s attention is on her computer when she hears a familiar name.  She looks up at the television screen.  “Lockhart Gardner?  What did they say?”

“I didn’t catch it,” says her husband.

She opens up an on-line search for Lockhart Gardner.  The story is right there.  She reads parts of it aloud.  “Will Gardner, dead at 48, partner at the firm of Lockhart Gardner, ummmm shot in court, ummmm allegedly by his client, ummmm, got the gun from a sheriff in the court room, ummmmm yesterday midday.  The office must be in turmoil.”

“Did you know him?” asks her husband.

“No.  His firm is connected to one of my contracts.”

Her phone rings.  The screen shows the name and number of her partner at the university.  Dr. Alicia puts him on speaker.  “Did you see the news about Lockhart Gardner?”

“Ya, just now.”

“It shouldn’t affect our contract,” he says.

“I wouldn’t think so,” she agrees.  “See you in the morning.”

“Night.”

Dr. Alicia’s first thought is of Kalinda.  She must know him.  She begins to call her, when she realizes it’s 11:20p.m.  A text message would be better, she thought.  ‘I just heard about Will Gardner.  Office must be in turmoil.  Will call in the morning.  I’m sorry.’  Send text.

 

* * *

 

Dr. Alicia calls Kalinda’s number shortly after 08:00.  Kalinda doesn’t answer so she leaves a message.  “It’s Alicia Hunt.  I heard about Will Gardner.  Just want to touch base.  My condolences.  I’ll call again.”

It’s 1p.m.  She hasn’t gotten any response from Kalinda.  She tries her phone again.  “It’s Alicia Hunt.  I’ll try your office.”  She calls the offices of Lockhart Gardner.  The receptionist answers, “Lockhart Gardner.”

“Kalinda Sharma, please,” requests Dr. Alicia.

“She’s not in.  Are you a client?  Or a personal friend?”

“A friend,” answers the doctor.

“I can take a personal message if you like,” says the receptionist.

“No,” decides the doctor.  “I’ve left her messages on her phone.”

The receptionist lowers the tone of her voice, as if she doesn’t want to be heard by the others near her.  “Are you a close friend?”

“Ya.  Pretty close,” answers the doctor.

The receptionist, in a whisper, says, “She’s not doing well.”

“Ok.  I got it.  Thanks.  Really.  Thanks.”  She hangs up and begins to plan.  She’s avoiding me, which is not a good sign.   She’s not coping well with the mourning.  The doctor dials Kalinda’s phone again, knowing full well she won’t pick up.  “Kalinda, it’s Alicia Hunt.  I’m out looking for you.  Where are you?”

Without much delay, Dr. Alicia receives a text message.   ‘I’m fine.’  The doctor responds repeating her request, ‘Where are you?’  There will be no more communication.  The doctor knows this.

At the end of the day, Dr. Alicia pulls Kalinda’s home address from the computer record.  She makes her way to the building, finds the apartment door and knocks persistently.  No answer.  She returns to the lobby of the building and waits.

After a time, Kalinda opens the lobby door and spots Dr. Alicia.  “What are you doing here?” she says to the doctor.

“I’ve been looking for you,” answers Dr. Alicia. 

“I’m fine,” Kalinda assures her. “You should go home.”

“I will, in a minute.”  The doctor assesses her state.  Kalinda is sober, but she looks like she’s been through hell.

Kalinda gets in the elevator.  The doctor follows her in.  “What are you doing?” Kalinda asks again.

“I’m visiting for a minute,” the doctor lies.  She follows Kalinda out of the elevator and down the hallway to the apartment door.  Kalinda opens the door and goes in.  Dr. Alicia is right behind her.  She does not react to the sparseness or whiteness of it all.

“I don’t even have a place for you to sit,” Kalinda says.

“I’ll sit where you sit,” the doctor returns.

“I sit on the bed,” says Kalinda, thinking that might make her uncomfortable enough to leave.

Dr. Alicia looks around, heads toward the door that must be the bedroom, opens it, goes in, and sits on the bed.  Kalinda is right behind her.

“You should go,” says Kalinda.

“I will, in a minute.”

Kalinda is exhausted.  “I don’t have the strength for this right now,” she tells the doctor.

“Then stop fighting me, because I’m well rested and I can go on like this for a while.”

Kalinda sits down on the bed.  The doctor thinks she’s on the verge of tears.  She isn’t sure how big an event this is going to be… _if_ it is going to be.  She remembers very clearly the woman telling her she hasn’t cried since she was 14.

Unbeknownst to the doctor, that’s no longer true … by a lot.

The doctor rises from the bed, crosses the room, and puts out the lights.  Only the moonlight streaming through the window keeps the room from being completely black.

“Were you friends?”

Kalinda hesitates.  It is hard for her to get a word out.  “Yes.”

“Close friends?”

In a whisper, “Yes.”

“I can’t see you,” says the doctor.  “Stop fighting what you feel.”

Kalinda begins to weep.  “For three days.  I can’t stop.”  Her voice is trembling.  “I don’t know how to stop.”

“Don’t stop,” the doctor advises.  “It has to get out.”  She sits beside Kalinda and holds her hand in the dark while she continues to weep.   “I’m going to hold you now,” the doctor says.  She’s not asking if she’d like to be held.  “You’re going to let me.”  The doctor takes control and Kalinda has no choice but to let the grief consume her.  How long this is to last, is to be determined by Kalinda.

 

* * *

 

“Lay your head down on the pillow now and sleep.” 

Kalinda does as she’s told.

When Kalinda seems settled, the doctor phones her husband.  Dr. Alicia always uses the speaker. “I won’t be home tonight.” 

“Ok.  Yes.  I see you,” he says.  The doctor always turns on her GPS tracker app when she’s out in the field so that he can follow her.  “Are you safe?” 

“Yes.”

“Ok.  Call if you need me.  Love you.”  And he is gone.

When Kalinda is asleep, Dr. Alicia lays down to sleep beside her.

* * *

 

In the morning, Dr. Alicia wakes up alone in the bed.  She gets up, anxious to check on Kalinda.  As she passes the dresser in the full light of the morning, she notices a photograph.  It is a snapshot of Will and Kalinda, probably at a party, Kalinda with her hair down.

She finds Kalinda in the kitchen in her robe, with a cup of hot tea in her hands.  She looks completely spent.   There is no longer any hint of make-up on her face.

“How’s your morning?“ asks the doctor.

“Better,” replies Kalinda, genuinely.  “Men talk to their wives like that?”

“Ya.”

“None I ever knew.”

“My friend, I’m going to go now.”  And the doctor lets herself out of the apartment.  It has not been a minute’s visit.  Sometimes you need a small white lie. 


	7. Kalicia Interrupted

 

 

Diane and Alicia spent an inordinate amount of time together in those first days after Will’s death, mourning together.  They talked of merging their firms, first as a joke after too many drinks, then seriously.  But a merger became unthinkable as the atmosphere at LG deteriorated.   Diane didn’t have the heart or the fortitude any more to referee the power struggle.

She and Kalinda can see it all coming apart at the seams.   They need a new home.

Diane approaches Alicia and Cary about joining their firm; herself, her $38 million in client business, and Kalinda.

Alicia’s immediate reaction to including Kalinda is resistance, with a touch too much vehemence.   Diane and Cary make it clear with looks of disapproval, that Will would never forgive them if they left Kalinda behind.  Alicia quickly checks herself.  “We can’t afford her.”  Her argument falls on deaf ears.

Diane had made decisions; which clients to take with her; which clients to leave behind.  Alicia and Cary review her lists.  Fisher & Li happens to be on the list of clients to leave behind with Canning and Lee.

Alicia is adjusting to the thought of having Kalinda in her everyday life again.  She decides to step up and make the first gesture.  She sends a text to Kalinda.  ‘I’d like for us to try again.  Getting ready for you to join the firm.  Meet at our old favorite place.  Tomorrow night, 8pm.’

 

Kalinda hears the beep when the text arrives on her phone.  She is over the moon.  She never expected another chance with Alicia.  She returns the text.  ‘Yes.’  She is pretty sure that in person, unlike in text, she will find great difficulty in subduing her glee.

She hardly knows what to do with the burst of energy that has come over her.

She sends a text.  ‘She wants 2b friends again!’

Dr. Alicia is in a meeting when her phone vibrates.  Kalinda’s message puts a smile on her face.  She knows exactly who Kalinda is talking about.  ‘So happy 4u.  Best news I’ve had in an otherwise lousy day.’

* * *

 

 

Kalinda’s day is focused on only one thing, the evening’s meeting with Alicia. 

Finally it’s time.  She drives to their favorite place and parks her car across the street.  She can see Alicia at a table in the window waiting for her.  Her heart is pounding.  She can feel herself grinning ear to ear.  Cool it a little.  You don’t want to freak her out.  Kalinda has waited such a long time for forgiveness.

She is completely in her own head.  She barely notices a limo close to her until it has blocked her path.  Two doors open.  Two men emerge.  “Mr. Bishop would like to talk to you.”  Her thoughts bounce all over the place.  Not now!  Alicia’s waiting for me!  Lamond Bishop always scares the crap out of her, and she doesn’t fluster easily.  She finds herself in the car by no effort of her own.

Lamond Bishop begins to speak, his tone as frightening as ever.  “An FBI agent, Lana Delany, is contacting me… again… and again, the topic is you.  I thought we agreed I don’t like the FBI coming to me and you were going to take care of it.”

Kalinda is quiet, on high alert, adrenalin rushing.  The last time Lana was of concern to Mr. Bishop, Kalinda seriously feared for her life.

Kalinda can see Alicia, through the car window, through the restaurant window.

“It seems the FBI found a dead Canadian drug dealer in a construction site in my ummm … business radius, buried for over a year.  They seem to think I’m attached to the murder.”

Kalinda’s constitution tightens at the thought of Nick and what she’d had a hand in doing to him.

“Agent Delany,” Bishop continues, “appeared yesterday, out of the blue, in my face, at my kid’s ball game, pretending to be a parent, warning me about a warrant for you and me, she says, because she wants you, specifically, extracted from the country immediately.  She thinks I can do that in return for the warning.

Look, I don’t know what kind of relationship you have with this FBI agent, and with this dead guy, and I don’t care.”  He signals to the limo driver, who speeds off.  “I’m just interested in keeping my ass out of prison.”

Kalinda is putting all the pieces together.  Kalinda Sharma is no more.

They take her keys.  They destroy her phone and the contents of her wallet.  They’ll dispose of her car, they say, and will empty her apartment. 

Her mother’s diaries.  The last tangible things that are her, gone.

They give her a phone, a lot of cash, a Canadian driver’s license, a Canadian bank account and credit card.  They give her a Canadian passport with a picture of an Indian woman on it.  She’ll have to let her hair down to disguise the lack of resemblance.

* * *

 

 

 Alicia is getting angry.  I can’t believe I’ve been pulled into Kalinda’s crazy life again.  What a fool to let Diane and Cary overrule my better judgment.  She stood me up.  Over my dead body will I agree to let her join the firm.  She’s flaked on me for the last time.

* * *

 

 

“Where are we going?” Kalinda demands of Bishop, with all the courage she can muster. 

“We’re flying private charter from O’Hare to Vancouver.  Then we part ways.  You’re going commercial to Seoul.  From there, you go wherever you want.  I don’t care, but stay out of the U.S.”

By morning, Kalinda has left the hemisphere.  

* * *

                                                                                       

 

“I can’t find Kalinda anywhere this morning,” Diane says to Alicia.  “You met with her last night didn’t you?  She’s not answering my calls.”

“She didn’t show.”

“What do you mean she didn’t show?”

“No calls, no messages.  I was left there alone.”

“She wouldn’t just do that.  That makes me worry.”

“Maybe she would.  Maybe we know different Kalindas.”  Alicia gives Diane a knowing look.  “I used to know things about her.  She came from a very rough world.  It was unnatural for her to be constrained in our world, in one place as long as she was.  It was bound to happen anytime.”

Diane knew there was the mysterious and the dangerous about Kalinda.  “Should we call the police?  Report her missing?”

“No,” says Alicia.  “Let her go.”

* * *

 

 

Three weeks later.

It seems a routine day at Florrick, Agos & Lockhart.  Alicia and Cary are discussing the strategy of an important case.

Diane is the first to notice the commotion in the reception area.  The receptionist seems to be unsuccessfully challenging the entrance of a group of FBI agents to the offices.

Diane makes her way over to reception to lend an authoritative presence to the situation.  

The agents know her.  “Ms. Lockhart, we are here to see Mrs. Florrick, please.”

“Do you have an appointment with her?”  Diane is having some fun.  She knows the FBI doesn’t make appointments.

Alicia and Cary have noticed the scene and are making their way over to reception to defend their offices.

“Mrs. Florrick, we need to speak to you.  May we use your office?”

“As you can see, we don’t have offices.  So speak.  I don’t know what I can possibly help you with, but I’ll listen.” 

“Mrs. Florrick, we are looking for Kalinda Sharma.  Do you know where she can be found?”

“Why?” asks Alicia.  The lawyer in her doesn’t answer any questions without knowing the impact of her potential answers.

“She’s wanted for questioning in a murder investigation.  I have a warrant for her arrest.”

“Who was murdered?” asks Alicia.

“A former client of Lockhart Gardner.  In fact, a former client of yours, Mrs. Florrick, when you were with Lockhart Gardner.  Nick Severese.  Looks like he’s been dead for over a year.”

Alicia’s face went white.

“Why don’t you ask at Lockhart Gardner?”

“Come on, Mrs. Florrick.  There isn’t a Lockhart Gardner anymore.  Canning and Lee say they don’t know anything.  You’re here.  Ms. Lockhart is here.  Mr. Agos is here.  You especially, Mrs. Florrick, are a long time known close associate of Ms. Sharma.”

Alicia’s head is swirling, putting the pieces together.  “We haven’t seen her in almost a month.  She just disappeared one day.  No goodbye.”

“Do you know where she might have gone?”

“No clue,” answers Alicia.  That is certainly true.

“Her apartment has been emptied.  Not the way people do when they are deliberately moving out.  Were you aware of that?”

“No.  I’ve never been to her apartment.”

“You’ve been her legal counsel in the past.  Are you still representing her?”

“No.”

“Another of your clients, Lamond Bishop, has disappeared.  Any information on his whereabouts today?”

“No.”

“Mrs. Florrick, are you aware of any association of Ms. Sharma and Mr. Bishop?”

“None outside of our representation of him as a client at Lockhart Gardner.”  Alicia is getting very worried now.  She remembers the meeting with Kalinda and Bishop when she feared for Kalinda’s life.

“Mrs. Florrick, are you aware of any association of Ms. Sharma and Mr. Severese?”

Alicia pauses, weighing the impact of her admission on Kalinda, on herself, on the firm.  “He was her husband.”

Diane works very hard to cover how stunned she is at the news, and that Alicia knows this kind of secret of Kalinda’s.  Carey has a more visceral reaction.

“I’m sorry,” Alicia says to the agents.  “I don’t have any other knowledge that could help you.  Please find your way out now.”

“We’ll be in touch.  I’m sure we’ll have further questions for you Mrs. Florrick.”  The agents leave the offices of Florrick, Agos & Lockhart. 

* * *

 

 

Alicia is not feeling at all good about that exchange.  She makes her way to her desk.  Diane and Cary are not far behind.  “What in the world?” Diane remarks.  “Do you know where she is?’

“No.”

“Are you in contact with her?”

“No,” says Alicia.  “I told you.  She stood me up for our dinner date and I haven’t heard from her since.”  Alicia is feeling guilty now that she has flippantly cast Kalinda off as a disappointment… again… instead of being concerned something might have happened to her.  “I haven’t even tried to contact her.  I was angry.”

“Try now,” says Diane.

“I don’t think I should.  If she still has her same phone, which I doubt, the FBI could potentially pinpoint her location.  If I even try to call her and the FBI is watching me, they’ll think I know a lot more about her.”

“Do you?  Know a lot more about her?” asks Diane.  She feels the answer is now obvious.

“A lot, yes.  It seemed never enough.  She was always holding back.”

“Do you know anything about this murder?” asks Cary.

\----Alicia remembers the night she told Nick she couldn’t represent him anymore.

\----‘And I’m not in danger?’ 

\----‘You won’t be.’

\----‘You look relieved.’

\----‘I am.’

\----‘He’s gone.   And you’re safe?’

\----‘Ya.  You are too.’

\----‘Good.  What if he comes back?’

\----‘He’s not coming back.’

\----‘You sure?’

\----‘Ya.’

Oh, my God.  What did she do?  What did she do to protect me?

“I might be able to take a pretty good guess.”

“Alicia!” exclaims Cary.  His mind goes into motion, strategizing what Alicia’s defense should be.

Too many things clicking into place for Alicia.  Her head was in the sand so much when Kalinda was working her magic for her.  Five years of memories; the things Kalinda did for her; the things she was aware of; and the things she wasn’t.

 


	8. Unconditional Friend

 

 

Dr. Hunt reserved this hour to compose the quarterly resource status report for the Fisher & Li contract.  She opens her email folder where she collects all her Fisher & Li business.  Two new attorneys were evaluated and cleared this quarter.  She remembers them.  And there is the ‘terminated’ email that she hasn’t opened yet.  Diane Lockhart and Kalinda Sharma?!

The doctor wonders what is going on.  She calls Kalinda’s phone number.  A strange voice answers.  Her number has been reassigned to someone else. 

She calls the Fisher & Li project manager.  He confirms the two have been formally processed out of the project by their law firm.  He doesn’t know why.

Dr. Hunt pulls up the Lockhart Gardner number from her call log.  She is surprised to hear the receptionist answer ‘Canning and Lee’.  “Kalinda Sharma, please,” she says.

“Kalinda Sharma is no longer associated with the firm.”

“Can you tell me how to get hold of her?”

“I’m sorry.  I don’t have that information.  May I help you with anything else?”

The doctor needs to be more creative.

Kalinda had never had a huge presence on social media, but it seems all activity stopped about three weeks ago. 

That was about the time  -- she checks her text log –  there it is.  She was going to repair her friendship with Mrs. Florrick.  She was very excited about that.

She prepares to make a call to the first lady of the state.  Surprisingly, she’s feeling a slight bit timid.  “Mrs. Florrick.  I’m Dr. Hunt from Northwestern.  We have a mutual friend, Kalinda Sharma.  Do you know how I can contact her?”

Alicia becomes aloof immediately.  “We know nothing.  She just disappeared one day.”

Dr. Hunt is caught unprepared for the rudeness.

“Where have you looked for her?” the doctor says in her most authoritative voice.  “Did you report her missing to the police?”

Mrs. Florrick is not intimidated.  The doctor hears that clearly in her response.  “We didn’t do any of that.  I don’t have any information for you.  I don’t know who you are.  I’m sorry.  I’m hanging up now.”

Dr. Hunt is stunned at the coldness.  It will take her a bit of time to process, before she will decide on her next step.

 

* * *

 

Alicia is disturbed by the call.  Is it guilt?  Is it worry?  Is she being protective?  This person can be anyone.  She has no way of knowing if the caller means Kalinda harm.  She has no way of knowing if that’s the FBI thinking she too, is complicit in the death of Nick Severese, or if they think she’s harboring a fugitive.

She goes online.  Search Dr. Hunt, Northwestern University.  She finds the faculty profile.  Hazel A. Hunt-Ferrero, Ph.D., ‘Alicia’ to her family and friends, 39, Associate Professor of Clinical Psychology, Feinberg School of Medicine.  Publications.  Awards.  News: Local businesses contract for services from the University.  On the list is Fisher & Li, LLC.  Alicia knows LG got that contract.  Spouse, Michael A. Ferrero, CPA.  One son, Michael, 14.

What do I do with this?  Ignore it?  It eats at her for hours until she gives in.

She finds Dr. Hunt’s phone number on her call log.  She returns the call.  She leaves a voice message. 

 

* * *

 

“You got a call while you were in the shower,” says Dr. Hunt’s husband.

She hits the voice mail button and the speaker.   “This is Alicia Florrick.  I looked you up.  If you want to talk about her, come to my offices tomorrow, 7pm.”

“Is that…?  Why would the governor’s wife be calling you?” 

“I can’t talk about it.”

He understands very well about the therapist/client confidentiality bond and he always respects her judgment when she feels she needs to keep things from him to honor it.

* * *

 

 

Dr. Hunt gives herself plenty of time to find the law offices of Florrick, Agos & Lockhart.  It is located in a part of Chicago not typical for businesses of this type and stature.  She finds a parking spot very close to the entrance.  She double checks.  Yes.  Her GPS tracker app is on.  She follows the signs.  The elevator looks rickety.  She isn’t sure it’s safe.  When she reaches the floor where the law offices are housed, she sees a deserted, dimly lit, ‘open concept’ business space.    In one corner is a bright office.  She makes her way to it.  As she gets closer, she recognizes a face she’s seen many times on television.

“Dr. Hunt?”

“Yes.  Mrs. Florrick.”

From behind, Cary excuses himself for disturbing them.  “Excuse me.  Alicia, I’m heading out.  You’re last.”

“Good night, Cary”.

Dr. Hunt takes a more careful look at him.  That’s Cary.  She’s heard a fair amount about Cary.  She can see the attraction.

“Please have a seat,” Alicia offers.  Alicia wastes no time with pleasantries.  “You’re looking for Kalinda.  For her protection, you should stop.  I will answer any questions you have.  Here in person, never over the phone or email.”

“What happened to her, Mrs. Florrick?   Where is she?”

“How do you know her?”  Alicia, as always, can’t answer a question without an interrogation first.  “Are you one of her… girlfriends?”  The connotation is clear.

“No,” says Dr. Hunt.  “That was unprofessional, Mrs. Florrick.”  What in the world kind of relationship did these two have?  Is she jealous?  “I can’t talk about how I know her.  I have confidentiality obligations.”

A clinical psychologist with confidentiality obligations toward Kalinda?  “That makes you sound like a therapist, and I have a very difficult time believing Kalinda would have anything to do with a therapist.  It’s not in her nature to talk.”

Dr. Hunt has heard those words from Kalinda, almost verbatim.  “I can’t say.”

“She was in some trouble,” offered Alicia.

“What trouble?”

“Law enforcement was looking for her in connection with a death.”

“Whose death?”  Dr. Hunt is a bit afraid to ask.

 “Her husband.”

We talked about him, Dr. Hunt remembers.  We talked about him in the past tense.  “Do you believe it?”

Alicia has her own obligations.  “I can’t say.  She was my client at one time.  My knowledge is protected by privilege.”

Dr. Hunt is afraid that is tantamount to saying yes.  “Do you know where she is?”

“No, I don’t.  If I were to venture a guess, I’d guess she’s left the country.  It was the FBI that was looking for her.”

“Do you know if she’s safe?”

“No, I don’t.”

Mrs. Florrick’s business-like detachment raises her ire.  Dr. Hunt can feel her blood pressure rising.  “Do you care?”

“Yes, I do,” answers Alicia.

Boy, it doesn’t show.  “She’s extremely loyal, even in the face of evidence it is undeserved.”

Alicia doesn’t miss the insult.  “On our best days, it was deserved.  And appreciated.  But life gets messy.”

I’ve heard the stories.  And I’m sure there are more, worse.  Dr. Hunt reaches into her bag and pulls out a post card with a picture of Milan, Italy, its canals lit in the night.  “Have a look at something for me.”  She hands the card to Mrs. Florrick.

Alicia looks at the card, front and back.  It is addressed to Alicia & Mike Ferrero.  The note says, ‘A most wonderful vacation.  Heaven on Earth, wish you were here.  Missing you.  Love you.   Mom.’  Alicia looks up at the doctor.

“I received that about a week ago in the mail.  My mother is dead.  My husband’s mother lives with us.  Her sight is failing.  She doesn’t travel anymore.  She can’t really go outside the house without holding on to my arm.  My husband never goes by Mike, always Michael.  Do you think this could mean something?”

Dr. Hunt watches the light go on.  She watches Mrs. Florrick’s smile widen as she builds a story in her head.  She watches what was a moment ago, a hard face, now radiating with warmth.

“Is there a connection of any kind to anyone in your family; his family?  He’s got an Italian name.”

“We’ve been through all the members of my family and his family.  We’ve exhausted any family explanation.  There’s no tie that we can see.”

“Does Kalinda know your husband?  Does she know about the Mike vs Michael thing?”

“Yes, she does,” says Dr. Hunt.  “It’s a big deal in his family.”

“Then sure, maybe she’s trying to get your attention.  Maybe it’s her signaling to you not to blow this off.  It’s certainly possible she’s sending you a message,” concedes Alicia, “that she’s alive and well.  Maybe.” This last part Alicia seems to be saying more to herself than to the doctor.  

Alicia can’t mask the relief in her voice.  Dr. Hunt picks up on it.  Mrs. Florrick lives in a merciless world where the weak are eaten.  But she did care about Kalinda.  At one time, before she was quite so calloused, she did care.

Alicia dives into her keyboard.  Search Milan, Italy.  “Five million people.  She can hide.”  Alicia is focused on the screen.  “You’d never find her.  No way to know what her name is now.  Ha!!   Fashion capital!”  She turns away from the screen to look at Dr. Hunt; to enjoy that thought together.  “Can you imagine what she must look like?”

“She must be stunning,” agrees Dr. Hunt.

“Yes,” says Alicia. 

 “She came from a very rough world.  She can take care of herself.  She can start her life over.  Do you know this about her?”

“I can’t comment.”

“It’s nice to think that this is her.  We can never really know.”

“Yes,” agrees Dr. Hunt.

“Let her be,” says Alicia to Dr. Hunt, almost as plea, “if you care about her.”

“Yes, I can see that.”  Dr. Hunt watches a thought form over Mrs. Florrick’s face.  “What are you thinking?”

“I’m imagining adding an Italian accent to the already murky combination of accents she used when I knew her.”  Alicia laughs aloud.

She has a great laugh.  The doctor can see that there was an affectionate tie there at one time.  She can maybe see what Kalinda saw in her.

Dr. Hunt takes her post card and rises from the chair.  “Good night, Mrs. Florrick.” 

She is maybe a dozen steps away from Mrs. Florrick when she hears her call.   

“Wait.”

Dr. Hunt turns to see that Mrs. Florrick has followed her. 

“She did that with me once, called me mom when she didn’t want someone to know who was on the other end of her phone call.  And she said, ‘love you’.”

Alicia pauses a moment.

“Are you called Alicia?”

“Yes,” responds Dr. Hunt.

“Do you think you were the replacement for me?”

Maybe, at first.

“When Will died, Mrs. Florrick…,” Dr. Hunt starts.

“She was strong because she knew I couldn’t be,” Alicia interjects.  That wound is still fresh.

The woman who cried uncontrollably in my arms for hours was not strong about Will’s death.  You didn’t really know her.  Not below the surface.  You were entangled in public humiliation, consumed with preservation of self, protection of children.   You weren’t available.  But she was patient.

“Mrs. Florrick, was she an unconditional friend to you?”

Alicia doesn’t want to answer.  She knows what will be the next question in the cross examination.

“And you to her?” 

It’s obvious to Dr. Hunt that Mrs. Florrick is not going to answer with words, but her body is speaking.

“Yes, you told me.  Life got messy.”

Dr. Hunt is remembering Kalinda’s story about the 14 year old orphaned girl who felt, down to her pores, that she was alone in the world, without any family, without anyone who cared about what happened to her; whose foster mother put the idea into her head that no one honorable was ever going to have her.

“No, Mrs. Florrick.  I don’t think she thinks of me as a replacement ‘Alicia’.  You and I are so very different.”  Dr. Hunt had formed a first impression.  She didn’t really care for Mrs. Florrick and her legal world of the hard hearted and the piranha.  

Dr. Hunt has always been happy with the choice of her life’s work, helping people, with compassion; never more so than now.  “I haven’t been really sure until this moment.”   Dr. Hunt takes out her phone and makes a call.  She speaks into the phone, but her eyes are on Mrs. Florrick’s eyes.  “I’m on my way home now.   For our next trip to Europe, what do you say we see Milan?”   She turns from Mrs. Florrick and boards the elevator.  

**Author's Note:**

> This is a first for me. Feedback appreciated, so I can be better.  
> To any whose life work is psychology or law enforcement, my apologies upfront for any misrepresentations of how you do your good work. I pulled this all out of my ***... I mean imagination.


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